Of Finding Courage and Finding Yourself
by Emily31594
Summary: Blaine and Kurt discover the true meaning of the word courage and what it can do. Three parts. Begins before we meet Blaine on Glee and continues into the summer after the current season.
1. Chapter 1

_Welcome to the longest piece of continuous writing I have ever written. _

_Before I begin, here's what I have to say about New York. How can something that makes that many people laugh and cry and smile and hug and kiss and jump up and down possibly be wrong? _

_As Donna Moss of The West Wing said (oh hush, I love this show), "In a free society, you don't need a reason to make something legal. You need a reason to make something illegal."_

_Also, can I just say that I never realized what Blaine was carrying on the staircase at Dalton was a pocket-watch. That made me giggle for at least a minute straight. (As have all of the Glee Live skits. If you haven't seen them yet, they're worth checking out on YouTube. I recommend Anaheim, DC, Chicago, and San Jose in particular, but they're all amusing. There are very few things funnier than Chris Colfer imitating Oprah or staring at __**D**__arren __**C**__riss and saying "What does D.C. stand for? Can you think of anything at all? Anything?")_

_Okay, I digress. This piece... This is a sort of collection of stories and observations about Blaine that build to a point in the end. You will find Klaine, Wevid, Mr. Anderson (the elder), bullying, Warblers, New Directions, Samcedes, scenes from Glee, original scenes, expansions of scenes from Glee, and just about anything else you can think of, because this is long. Stick with me? I think it's worth it. This will be posted in three parts, but they are all already written, so they will be up promptly._

_Oh, also, I don't own Glee. Any recognizable dialogue (and the way in which it was acted) is lifted directly from scenes in Glee. Any recognizable characters (Blaine, Kurt, Mercedes, Burt, Rachel, David, Wes, etc., etc.) also belong to Glee and not to me. _

_Enjoy!_

**Part One**

_Beep. Beep. Beep. _What was that? That noise? He wanted it to go away so he could sleep more.

_Beep. Beep. Beep._ There was a warm pressure in one hand. The rest of his body felt numb.

_Beep. Beep. Beep. _The sound wasn't letting up. He decided he should probably figure out where he was. He tried to move his free hand experimentally, pleased when his thumb lurched a little.

_Beep. Beep. Beep. _He then tried the same with his other hand and was startled when he heard a short gasp next to him. He recognized the voice to which it belonged. His mother?

_Beep. Beep. Beep._ He managed to pry his eyes open, turning his gaze to the hand resting in his and following the arm up to his mother's face, before slowly taking in the sanitary white walls and sheets around him.

_Beep. Beep. Beep. _He was in a hospital. So that's what that noise was. A heart monitor. Why was he in the hospital? He shifted to sit up, but when he tried to move his left elbow, searing pain shot through his shoulder. He gave up on that idea and settled back into the sheets. "Mom?" he rasped out. His voice sounded scratchy, odd, not his own.

"Oh, Blaine, thank God," she gushed, bending to kiss the hand she was holding gently. "You gave us such a scare."

"Mom, wha-," he cleared his throat frustratedly, "—what happened?"

"You don't remember?" she whispered, her eyes frightened. "You were hurt after the…after the dance."

Blaine's eyes widened as the memories came rushing back. Heavy boots colliding with his legs, his ribs, his arms. A scrap of metal scraping across his shoulder, leaving a scalding trail of blinding pain. Joseph, crying out next to him for them to stop. Joseph. _Joseph._ "Joseph?" he rushed out.

"He's ok, honey," she comforted. "He was released a few hours ago. He had a broken arm, but the rest of him was in better shape than you were. But you're ok. You're gonna be ok." She seemed to be saying the last few lines more to herself than to him.

"How long have…how long have I been here?" he managed, closing his eyes for a second in an attempt to block the pain and the memories.

"Just a day, honey. It's Sunday morning. They had to give you a lot of stitches on your shoulder and they thought the pain would be better if they knocked you out for twelve hours."

Blaine reached to his side with his right hand and fingered the large cloth bandage protecting his injury.

"Where's dad?" he asked.

"Right here," his father voiced from near the door as he ended a call on his cell phone. "Cindy our lawyer said we can press charges as soon as Blaine gives his statement."

Blaine glanced between his parents. His mother glared at his father for a second for bringing it up. "Only when you're ready, Blaine," his mother comforted, smoothing his hair down gently.

Mr. Anderson seemed to take his wife's reaction under advisement. He looked down at his son kindly. "I'll tell them to come tomorrow, Blaine," he offered. "You should rest now."

Blaine didn't miss his heavy sigh. He felt lost. Was his father really still going think that this was Blaine's fault? "What's wrong, dad?" he asked.

"I wish that—I wish that we didn't have to deal with all of this," he answered.

"And you think I don't?" Blaine countered, fighting through the fogginess of the pain medication.

His father ran a hand through the dark curls Blaine had inherited. "I think you could be doing a better job."

Blaine fought to sound strong, though he felt anything but. "Of what?"

"You know what, Blaine." He looked frustrated. "Blending in. You aggravated them."

"You think I brought this on myself?" Blaine's voice was as loud as he could muster. "You think they had a right to do this to me?"

"No, of course not. I just think—"

"Roger!" his mother halted their argument. "Not now." Blaine looked at her expectantly, hope lighting his eyes. She didn't continue.

Blaine's eyes widened. "You're not disagreeing with him. Why aren't you disagreeing with him?" His eyes began to fill with tears. "Why aren't you defending me?" She turned to him with shock on her face, apparently unable to say anything.

"Just...just go away," he choked out, determinedly looking anywhere but at their faces. "Let me be."

"Cindy," his father called, "let's go."

"Go, mom. I want to sleep. Leave me alone," Blaine encouraged.

"I'll be there in a minute," she told his father, her eyes not leaving Blaine's. "Blaine," she whispered.

He looked away, blinking to clear the tears from his eyes, determined not to answer. She hesitated for a moment, then slipped her hand out of Blaine's and silently walked away.

* * *

><p>Blaine exhaled slowly as he slipped out of his shoes and hung his jacket in the front closet. He glanced at the clock; it was already six. His mother had been late to get him today, but the doctor had said he wasn't allowed to walk even the half mile to his house yet. As Blaine would expect at this time of night, his father was already in the living room when he reached it, a newspaper folded between his fingers.<p>

"Hello, Blaine," his father said, looking up. "Where's your mother?" he asked.

"She said to tell you that she had an errand to run and that she'd be back in an hour or so."

"How's the shoulder?"

"A little better," Blaine lied, wincing as he remembered the rush of dizzying pain from accidentally lifting one of his heavier textbooks with the wrong arm during history class.

"And school?"

Blaine was silent. His father scrutinized him from his dark leather chair across the room, letting his newspaper fall into his lap. "Again?" he guessed, sounding almost weary.

Blaine bit his lip.

"I love you, Blaine, I just…I don't understand why you have to make things so difficult. For you. For me. For your mother."

"Dad, I didn't choose this. And it's not wrong. You make it sound like I'm doing something illegal. You want to know what happened today? A kid I don't even know came up to me and said he was sorry I was back already. And then he tossed a note on top of my books that said 'Go to Hell where you belong'."

His father sighed heavily. "I'm not having this argument again."

"Dad, these people put me in the hospital a few weeks ago," Blaine argued earnestly. "They're the ones who are wrong."

"Blaine, I agree that what they did was wrong. You know that." His father cleared his throat. "But I think you also know there was a real reason it happened."

Blaine's heart sank at the familiar accusation. "And you think that reason is…me?" Blaine managed to whisper. His heart sank even further.

"Blaine," his father muttered quickly, conscious that he had perhaps gone a bit too far.

Blaine shook his head and hurried from the room before his father could see him cry.

* * *

><p>The next day, when Blaine told his English teacher, Mrs. Lindsay, a shortened version of the story about the note and his father, he was honestly only looking for a little genuine sympathy. Instead, he received advice that would change his life forever.<p>

"I talked to an old colleague of mine, Blaine," she began when he was done. "We used to teach together in Columbus. I didn't tell him your name or anything, but I explained your situation. Now, I understand if you don't feel like you can bring this to your parents, but it might be a good solution to suggest to them. There's a school in Westerville, about two hours from here, called Dalton Academy. Have you heard of it?"

Blaine shook his head no.

"They're a well-regarded all boys private school with a no-tolerance bullying policy that's strictly enforced. Because they're private, they can expel students for not following their policy." She glanced at Blaine to see if he understood where she was going.

"You would be perfectly up to their academic standards, and Blaine, you would be safe. You'd get away from all this." She gestured to the school around them. "You could board there, if you wanted, until you get your driver's license, so your parents don't have to take you." _And to get away from that toxic father of yours,_ she added mentally. She handed Blaine a sheet of paper. "That's the phone number and email for the headmaster and for my friend. Think about, Blaine. Please."

Blaine stared at the sheet, a possible way out when a few moments ago he had seen none, and his mind began to reel. On his way to the door, he was already figuring out what he would say to his parents.

"Blaine," Mrs. Lindsay called from her desk as he was walking away, still staring at the paper. "Tell me if anything else happens, okay? Promise me." Blaine nodded blindly. "You're the bravest student I've ever had," she said. His hand hesitated on the doorknob. "Hold on to that."

* * *

><p>That night at dinner ("Because dinner is where we discuss things as a family, Blaine, you know that, and your father needs to be there too"), they had almost finished their meals before Blaine worked up the courage to suggest it.<p>

"Dad, I—I have something I want to talk to you about." Mr. Anderson's head snapped towards Blaine.

Blaine worked on keeping his expression resolute. "Mrs. Lindsay, she used to work with this guy named Mr. Peterson who now teaches at a place called Dalton."

His father was surprisingly silent, apparently giving him time to get out whatever it was that had obviously been on his mind all night.

"This school, it has a zero-tolerance harassment policy. She thinks I could get in. They take transfers in special circumstances, and she would organize it so they take my transcript, and it's academically better than school here anyway. I could help with the tuition, if you want. Just…let me try this. I think it might be a great solution. For all of us." That was officially the entirety of the list of reasons Blaine had come up with throughout the day.

He honestly wasn't sure what he was expecting. Shock, for sure. But what else? Annoyance? Anger? Frustration?

He was shocked himself when his father took the news silently but calmly.

"You really think this will help, Blaine?" his mother asked, one hand on his arm.

He considered her carefully, then answered truthfully. "I do."

She looked at his father, who nodded.

"Let's try it."

* * *

><p>The uniforms at Dalton were something of a relief for Blaine. When he entered the hallways for the first time and saw the blue and red jackets and gray slacks, he sighed internally. This, he could do. He could fit in. He could wear a uniform and smile disarmingly and slick back his unruly hair. He could act like one of them. Compared to being mocked and shoved and beaten, fitting in was easy.<p>

In fact, Blaine made fitting in his new challenge. He dared himself to be too unnoticeable, to blend in to the walls so well that the student body had nothing to call him out on, nothing to say about him except, "Blaine Anderson, yeah, the transfer kid."

He would be so dapper, so charming, so perfect that they would leave him alone. They would have to. He kept his expectations extraordinarily low for the school and expected everything out of himself. It would be their job to provide an education; it would be his job to keep himself removed and silent, to make it not matter. After all, his scars, both emotional and physical, were fresh. As he stared at those scars, fingered the red line across his shoulder, he would ask himself, _Does a single school with a real no tolerance bullying policy exist? _And as he traced the angry, hurt words he had imprinted into his journal, he would answer: _Not one._

At Dalton, he believed the outward bullying would disappear. He thought that the bullying would be present, but less overt, that they would call him names behind his back and give him silent stares in the hallways and "trip" him on the way to class.

This experience would be emotionally the same as his old school, he was sure. At his old school, only a couple of his friends had stuck around once he came out. Here, he wasn't trying for new friends at all.

He was walking to the cafeteria, glancing around nervously, trying to seem confident and in control, when he met them. _Blend in_ he was telling himself. _Be unremarkable, be unnoticeable, be average._

Two boys appeared from behind and sandwiched him in between them. The one on his right bumped his shoulder. He tensed immediately, sure that they were about to hurt him, that his cover was already blown. _Curse my inability to blend in for even one tiny day! _He thought. _And curse how much shorter I am than them. They'll beat me up for sure._

The boy on the left smiled congenially at him. "I'm David," he said. He indicated the companion who had nudged Blaine a few seconds earlier. "That's Wes."

Wes offered a hand. Blaine shook it warily.

"You sing," Wes commented.

Blaine's heart was racing."Hmm?"

"We heard you," David explained, and Blaine got the sense that he walked around explaining Wes frequently, "you were singing to yourself while everyone else was working on their group project in French class."

Blaine paled. _Why couldn't I just be quiet?_ he asked himself, _Just for one day?_ He braced himself for the shove. When it didn't come, he dared a glance at their faces.

"You're good," Wes commented.

"What?" Blaine half whispered, shocked.

"Like, really good," Wes amended.

"Which is why we came to talk to you, actually," David told him, a slight grin on his face. "We want you to try out for our glee club. The Warblers."

"You want _me_ to …" Blaine trailed off, perplexed, unused to friendly behavior from practically anyone. He watched Wes and David exchange a look.

"Sit with us at lunch," Wes offered.

David glanced at Wes and continued, "We sit with all the Warblers guys, so you can meet them, and all."

Blaine considered for a second before he remembered the first day that fall when Ben, his best friend since fourth grade, turned from the customary seat Blaine had saved him and walked away without a word. It was better not to get too close. "N-No. Th-Thanks, guys. But I'm fine by myself."

Wes looked confused. "Suit yourself," he conceded with a shrug.

Blaine hurried past them to the lunchroom. He selected and paid for a surprisingly edible-looking sandwich being offered that day, then consumed barely a few bites while sitting in an obscure corner of the lunchroom, blissfully unnoticed.

The next evening, when he pulled out _To Kill a Mockingbird_ to read for American Lit class, he found a sticky note pasted inside the front cover. _We didn't mean to scare you away yesterday by being too imposing or anything. Wes just gets overexcited sometimes. We think you're really talented and really want you to be in our group. Lunch tomorrow? I promise, I'll keep Wes's enthusiasm to a minimum. ~David._

The next day, when Blaine had finished loading his tray, he glanced around the room. David caught his eye, smiled, and subtly (or at least, Blaine supposed David thought it was subtle) nudged an empty chair next to him. Wes noticed their interaction and waved.

Blaine sighed shakily and set off towards the Warblers table.

When they had finally convinced him to audition later that week, he wasn't quite sure what to expect. At the end of his song (top 40, of course, because that was and always would be his thing), he was faced with stunned silence. He glanced around nervously, his features set with confidence he did not feel, until David's face broke into a grin. Blaine slowly allowed his to match as he lowered his stiffened shoulders. He was in.

* * *

><p>"Out, Wes," David declared.<p>

"But David," Wes argued, "how could I possibly find lyrics to express my ideas about our set list for the performance at Newbrook Nursing Home next week? They would have to have the song titles in them."

"That may be true," Thad contributed, "but nevertheless, you're out."

Wes scowled. "Blaine wins," he conceded with a sigh.

Blaine grinned happily. "_Why couldn't you stay calm for once, instead of flying off the handle?" _he sang.

Wes glared. "How could you possibly be so good at this game? This is the first time you've played it."

"You talk too much, Wesley," David informed him. "If you talked less, maybe you'd have more luck finding song lyrics to express what you want to say."

"Yeah, be nice to the new kid, Wes," Flint argued, selecting a fry from Wes's plate and popping it into his mouth. "He's got mad skills."

"Also, more Broadway songs in his pocket than Wes has listened to in his entire life," Nick added.

"I've seen Wicked!," Wes protested. "And that one with all the people dressed as animals."

"The Lion King?" Jeff supplied, raising his eyebrows at Wes over his glass in slight disappointment.

Blaine stifled a laugh. He liked these people. He really did. They were funny, and sarcastic, and just…great.

Wes turned to look at Blaine, who shrank back a little, though not noticeably to the others, still unused to the attention. "This isn't over, my friend. Rematch tomorrow. Same time, same place."

Blaine was frozen. _Friend._ Wes shot a sidelong glance at his plate. "Flint, stop stealing my food."

* * *

><p>The Warblers were at lunch a few weeks later when the question Blaine had been secretly dreading since the first day he sat with them came up. "Why, in the middle of February of your freshman year, did you transfer schools?"<p>

Blaine's heart plummeted. He _finally_ had people to talk to, and though he knew that he couldn't really think of them as friends until they _knew_, he had been hoping to wait just a little longer before he alienated himself from this school, too.

He sighed heavily. _Well, no going back now_.

"I was…bullied, severely, at my old school. Right before a school dance, one of them put me in the hospital." He shrugged off the Dalton jacket, his cloak of security, and yanked back the collar of his shirt, showing them the angry red scar that ran across his collarbone and left shoulder.

Several of them breathed in sharply when they saw it.

"Why?" Wes began.

Blaine looked at him, hoping in equal parts that Wes would and would not ask what he knew was coming.

"Why did they do it?"

"Because I'm…" He glanced cautiously at these people, the closest thing he'd had to friends in what felt like forever, and just for a second, considered lying.

No, he couldn't. Courage, Blaine. Remember? You have to have courage. That thing the boys who beat you accused you of lacking.

"I'm gay." he finished. He was looking at his lap as he said it but his voice was strong, clear. Courageous.

He chanced a look up. To his surprise, nothing had changed. He told himself they must have all been too shocked, but then a few hands slipped carefully around his back, and he realized that Wes and David were giving him a friendly sort of half hug.

"That's horrible," one of them said.

"How _dare_ they?" another Warbler asked incredulously.

A single tear began to trace a path down Blaine's cheek. He brushed it away restlessly and laughed with relief.

"We got your back, now," Thad promised solemnly.

"So you…you…don't mind?" Blaine needed to be absolutely sure.

Wes looked at him with a mixture of disbelief and reassurance. "We don't care one tiny, little bit."

The rest of the group nodded in agreement. Blaine felt free, weightless. His heart was soaring. He looked up at the people gathered around him and smiled enough that it reached his eyes for the first time in months. He had friends. And they_ knew_. And they didn't care.

_That concludes part one. Part two (which includes Klaine, I promise, and is already completely written) will be up soon._

_Thanks for reading. Leave a review with your thoughts?_

_Emily_


	2. Chapter 2

**Part Two**

When Blaine heard Kurt's voice for the first time, he was checking the time on his pocket-watch (dapper continuously, much?) and racing to make it to the Warblers performance before Thad, Wes, and David threw a fit. (Not that it could start without him there.)

"Excuse me…um, hi. Can I ask you a question? I'm—I'm new here."

Blaine glanced up quickly at the obviously not new kid. He supposed the outfit could fool some. Just not him. He still isn't sure what made him decide to humor this "new kid" and hear him out, but he is forever glad he did.

"My name is Blaine," he said, putting his hand forward for a shake with a decidedly charming smile.

The kid looked startled and glanced at his hand a few times before taking it.

"Kurt," he said with a smile. Kurt sighed and looked up to indicate that he was moving on.

"So what exactly is going on?" he asked, taking in the rush of students going past them.

"The Warblers," Blaine explained with a laugh, eyeing a few students as they passed. "Every now and then they throw an impromptu performance in the senior commons. Tends to shut the school down for a while." He winked amicably (okay, he later admitted to himself, perhaps a little flirtatiously).

Kurt looked confused as he watched students trail into one hallway. "So wait the glee club here is…kind of cool?" His eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"The Warblers are like…rock stars," Blaine explained, still smiling happily at his new acquaintance.

Said new acquaintance's eyebrows shot up wryly in an expression Blaine would come to love.

"Come on." Blaine smiled and grabbed Kurt's hand. "I know a shortcut."

Kurt seemed to consider refusing, his mouth falling open for a second in shock. Then he stepped lightly down the stairs and followed.

As they half jogged to the commons, Kurt glanced around the otherwise empty hall with a smile, their joined hands warm.

When they reached the commons, Kurt took in the hundred or so boys wearing uniforms a little warily and joked to ease the tension. "Ooh, I stick out like a sore thumb," he observed, not untruthfully.

"Well next time don't forget your jacket, new kid," Blaine said happily, dapper smile still in place. He fixed Kurt's jacket, which may or may not have actually needed fixing, and might just have been an excuse to coax that brilliant light back onto Kurt's face, and tapped him kindly on the shoulder. "You'll fit right in." They smiled at each other.

"Now, if you'll excuse me." Blaine tossed his bag on a nearby chair, walked calmly to his group, and began to sing.

From the way Kurt smiled as they sang (okay, as _he_ sang the song directly to him) Blaine began to infer what the situation was and decided that perhaps Kurt, whose clothes made it look as though he could have imitated a Dalton uniform more closely if he so desired, wanted to be found out.

Which meant that he was probably there for the same reason Blaine had been almost two years earlier. He was looking for an impossible ray of sunshine in a very dark world.

A quick conference with Wes and David, and they were treating Kurt (who had somehow changed in the time it took them to talk) to a coffee. (It gives them secret pleasure that the first day they met they had coffee together and also that the table they were gathered around was the same one over which, five months later, they shared their first kiss.)

"Latte?" Blaine offered, sliding the cup towards Kurt.

"Thank you," Kurt mouthed, obviously confused.

"This is Wes, and David," Blaine introduced, indicating his companions separately with a nod.

"It's very civilized for you to invite me for coffee before you beat me up for spying," Kurt commented, eyeing the way Wes was following his every movement.

"We are not going to beat you up," Wes reassured. Blaine took a sip of coffee and let his friends do their work.

"You were such a terrible spy, we thought it was sort of…endearing," David added with a smile.

"Which made _me_ think that spying on us wasn't really the reason you came," Blaine concluded.

Kurt sighed and looked up cautiously. "Can I ask you guys a question?" David, Blaine, and Wes stared at him.

"Are you guys all gay?" he half whispered.

They laughed because they got that question from literally every new kid they met ("No one understands the bromance that is Wevid", Wes often complained), until Blaine noticed that Kurt's face had fallen and he looked genuinely afraid of their reactions.

"Uh, no," Blaine replied, glanced at the table. "I mean, I am," he reassured with a grin, "but, uh, these two—" he gestured to his friends "—have girlfriends."

"This is not a gay school," David explained, somewhat tired of this spiel. "We just have a zero tolerance harassment policy."

Blaine was watching Kurt's reactions carefully.

"Everybody gets treated the same," Wes finished. "No matter what they are. It's pretty simple."

Kurt's eyes teared up and he looked as though someone had suggested they knew how to cure cancer. Blaine recognized the feeling. He'd have to email Mrs. Lindsay and thank her for recognizing it, too.

He had Wes and David leave because he saw sitting across the table a version of his younger self, disbelieving that he could find acceptance or friendship in strangers. "Would you guys excuse us?" he asked.

"Take it easy, Kurt," Wes said. He and David got up quickly and left the room.

When they were gone, Blaine studied Kurt carefully. "I take it you're having trouble at school," he observed, giving Kurt an opening to explain his situation.

"I'm the only person out of the closet at my school," Kurt said softly with a few short nods, a tear escaping one eye. "And I—I—I try to stay strong about it, but…there's this Neanderthal who's made it his mission to make my life a living hell." Kurt shook his head regretfully. "And nobody seems to notice," he finished.

"I know how you feel," Blaine said, his mind jumping to the time before the dance, when he had felt so helpless and miserable and ignored in that way.

Kurt seemed to be frustrated by the idea that this rich kid at a sheltered private school would presume to comprehend his situation.

"I got taunted at my old school, and it really…it pissed me off" Blaine revealed. "I even complained about it to the faculty." Kurt looked up, interested.

"And they were sympathetic, and all but you could just tell nobody really cared." The pain in Kurt's eyes told him he had found a sore spot. "It was like 'If your gay, you're life's just gonna be miserable. Sorry. Nothing we can do about it.'" The indifference. That was what had killed. At least before bullying had landed him in the hospital, that had been the worst.

Kurt looked away, just as depressed as he had been when he arrived.

"So I left," Blaine finished, "and I came here." He gestured to the walls around them. He sighed, that lump in his throat jumping up a little. "Simple as that."

"So you have two options. I mean, I'd love to tell you to just come enroll here, but…tuition at Dalton is sorta steep and I—I know that's not an option for everybody." _Okay, give this kid something he can actually hold on to._ "Or…you can refuse to be the victim. Prejudice is just ignorance, Kurt. And you have a chance right now to teach 'em."

"How?" Blaine could tell Kurt was fighting a break down.

"Confront 'em," he offered, leaning forward. "Call 'em out."

Kurt looked at the table for a second, lost in thought.

"I ran, Kurt," Blaine confessed, swallowing his own frustration at that fact. "I didn't stand up. I let bullies chase me away, and it is something that I really, really regret."

They were silent for a moment, both lost in thought.

"You have your phone with you?" Blaine asked.

Kurt nodded.

"Let me give you my number."

Kurt looked hesitant. Blaine opened a new file for Kurt on his own phone. "Your number first?" he asked. Kurt paused for a second, then recited the seven digits.

Blaine responded with his.

He squeezed Kurt's hand once. "I want you to promise me that you'll call or text if you need anything, or want to talk."

Kurt nodded again.

"Anytime, day or night, Kurt." They stood together and Blaine caught Kurt's eyes. "I mean it."

Two days and around ten random "Courage" text messages later, when a hysterical Kurt called him unable to even form a complete sentence, Blaine was immensely glad he had said that.

When Kurt had calmed down enough to explain what had happened, Blaine was livid. How had someone at this school not noticed this?

"I'm coming tomorrow," he declared. Kurt stumbled through a polite refusal, but Blaine would have none of it. "We'll talk to him together," Blaine comforted, already on his way to Wes and David's dorm room to get out of the following day's rehearsal. "Hey, it'll be okay."

That confrontation was a complete disaster. It was also the start of the most important friendship of Blaine's life.

* * *

><p>Their first fight, oddly enough, was about girls. About one girl, actually. Rachel Berry.<p>

When Blaine returned from the restroom to find Kurt, not Rachel, holding his place in line, a bewildered expression on his face, relief washed over him.

They needed to fix this. Preferably, now. Before he went crazy missing his best friend and regretting what they had last said to each other.

"Kurt," he greeted, his voice soft, taking his place next to him in line. "I assume you heard that?"

Kurt nodded once, still looking straight ahead.

"I missed you this week," Blaine confessed. They stepped forward together as the line moved.

Kurt looked directly at him for the first time in over a week, a gentle smile on his face. "I missed you, too," he replied, so soft it was almost a whisper.

"Next?" the barista called.

Blaine swallowed back a relieved laugh when Kurt stepped forward and recited Blaine's coffee order. He glanced sideways at his best friend and told the woman what Kurt would have.

When they had gathered their drinks, Blaine led Kurt to their usual table and they sat in their usual order, Blaine facing away from the door, Kurt facing towards it.

They broke the silence together. "I'm sorry." They laughed a little, and Blaine pushed forward.

"I'm so sorry, Kurt. I should not have compared you to Karofsky at all. I regretted it the second it came out of my mouth." Blaine sighed heavily. "You're just…you're always so sure of who you are, and that you're right, and sometimes I wish I could be, too. I was…holding on to the idea that I might be what society considers 'normal'. Just for a little while."

"I understand. And I'm sorry that I acted like I didn't support you. I do, Blaine. You're my best friend and I promise I would support you no matter what you are." He smiled and grasped one of Blaine's hands for a second. "I was angry because I felt my support system slipping away."

Blaine raised his eyebrows a little over a sip of coffee. "But you know that I'd be your friend still, even if I was straight, right?"

Kurt smiled almost sadly. "Blaine, if you were straight, I'm not sure we would have tried to become friends. But yes. I know."

Kurt looked at Blaine carefully. "I was also angry because…Do you remember the conversation we had her a few weeks ago, on Valentine's Day?"

Blaine nodded, not sure where this was going.

"Have you seen _When Harry Met Sally_ since then?" Kurt asked.

Kurt's voice echoed in his mind, as did his own response. '_Don't they get together in the end?' _Oh. _Oh._ Going out with one of your best friend's friends about two weeks after he admitted he liked you, when he thought there was no way you'd be interested in that friend because she was the wrong gender. Not exactly stellar best friend behavior.

Blaine looked at Kurt sheepishly. "I'm a terrible friend."

"No," Kurt argued, sitting up sharply. "No, you're not at all. I just wanted you to understand…"

"Why you were so hurt." Because Blaine wasn't stupid, and even though they weren't dating, there was definitely something going on between them, and he never should have considered dating one of Kurt's friends, because whatever it was that was between them, it was developing, and changing, and he, for one, wanted to know where it was going, because he was closer to Kurt than he'd been to anyone else he'd ever met.

Not wanting to restart the conversation they'd had on Valentine's Day, and noticing how vulnerable and uncomfortable Kurt looked, Blaine decided to move on.

He picked an obvious topic to get their friendship back on its feet. "Where'd Rachel go?"

Kurt smiled. "She vanished while muttering something about dating gay men being song writing gold."

They laughed together, the tension broken.

Blaine breathed out slowly and let his eyes fall shut for just a second in relief. All was right with the world. They were best friends once more.

* * *

><p>Sometimes it scared him how similar they were. After all, who had seen the beating at the Sadie Hawkins dance coming? But then he remembered that Kurt had a supportive father and real friends and he swore to himself that he would protect Kurt from anything worse than he had already experienced.<p>

That promise was a large part of his reluctance about Prom.

But Kurt's strength, his insistence that they were going to go, wearing whatever they wanted, reminded Blaine of his promise to stand up for himself, and to stand up for Kurt.

And Kurt's pride, his dignity as he walked up on stage to accept the crown, inspired Blaine to have a little courage and pride himself and rescue Kurt from his first dance.

That was the first moment when Blaine thought to himself how much stronger they were together than apart.

Kurt hid behind bitterness; Blaine behind fitting in.

Kurt figured out that sometimes what Blaine needs when he's trying too hard to be perfect is for someone to reach over and mess up hair. Blaine discovered that sometimes what Kurt needs when he's being especially bitter and sarcastic is a giant hug.

Kurt and Blaine are each courageous. KurtandBlaine (or Klaine, as Wes and David preferred) is better.

"And that, my friend," Mercedes observed to Kurt one day, "is the definition of a healthy relationship."

* * *

><p>Once the plane from New York had landed and was taxi-ing to the gate, Kurt ripped his cell phone out of his pocket and waited impatiently as his iPhone screen came to life. <em>Favorites. Blaine. Text Message. <em>he clicked. _Just landed in Columbus_ he typed. _Meet me at the Lima Bean in an hour? Can't wait to see you! xoxo –Kurt_

_I'll be there. Can't wait to see you either! I'll be in regular old street clothes. Think you can find me without my Dalton blazer? xoxoxoxo–Blaine_

Kurt smiled at his phone and missed the sideways glance he was receiving from Mercedes. _I don't know_ he replied, _you're pretty short. Best wear something bright, so I can't miss you. (P.S. Just had to outdo me on the hugs/kisses)_

_I'm going to let the pass at my height slide, because I've missed you so much. ;) (P.S. Yes, it was necessary.) (P.P.S. xoxoxoxoxoxo)_

_I missed you too_ Kurt typed. A ding indicated that the fasten seatbelt sign was off. _Gtg. Getting off plane. C u soon! Don't try any "shortcuts" ;) x_

Kurt hit send with a sigh and slipped his phone back into his pocket, a smile forming on his face.

"You've been talking to Blaine, white boy," Mercedes accused.

Kurt turned to his left where his friend was sitting, blushing a little. She shook her head and laughed as she gathered her bag. "You only ever look like that when you're talking about him or Broadway."

Kurt folded. "So what if I was?" he asked.

"Can't I just be happy for my friends? They're in love."

Kurt froze and stared at Mercedes, his mouth hanging open in a shape he was fairly certain was reminiscent of Koi fish feeding at the zoo, but they were already being pushed off the plane by the wave of passengers and the moment was gone.

When Kurt walked in to the Lima Bean later that afternoon, he only had to glance around for a second before he found Blaine lounging silently at their usual table, one coffee in hand and the other in front of the opposite chair. Kurt smiled broadly and took in the sight for a second. It was then that he noticed Blaine was indeed wearing what could only be described as blinding red. _What a dork, _he thought fondly. He slipped silently past Blaine, who was facing away from the door and was apparently so lost in whatever he was thinking about (Kurt, actually) that he didn't notice Kurt until he had seated himself and was reaching for his drink.

Blaine blinked once, and they stared at each other for a second.

"You wore a bright color," Kurt observed.

Blaine smiled. "Said I would, didn't I?"

"I missed you," Kurt said. On the list of thousands of things he had been waiting all week to say to Blaine in person , that was at the top.

"Yeah, me too," Blaine agreed, glancing down at the table. "At least you had New York City to distract you," he teased. "I think that's the longest we've gone without seeing each other since the day we met."

Kurt raised an eyebrow. "The Rachel Berry House Party Trainwreck Extravaganza?" he reminded.

Blaine blushed, a rarity for him, and slipped a hand over his face. "Oh God, don't remind me." He reached out to enclose one of Kurt's hands in his for a moment, then pulled away. They'd been over this, Kurt was just teasing, but he still felt frustrated by his past self's inability to see what was right in front of him.

"So how was New York?" Blaine moved on. "You've told me bits and pieces, but I want to hear everything in person. I know you guys didn't make top ten, but you were twelfth, right?"

Kurt lit up at the prospect of getting to share his stories and nodded, stopping to take a sip of his coffee. "Oh, my God, you should've seen it. We all looked at the top ten list for Showcase, and we all just went numb."

Blaine shook his head, his hand now open and supporting his chin, his eyes dreamily taking in the boyfriend he hadn't seen in a week.

Kurt rolled his eyes at a memory. "And then Jessie kept going on and on about how Rachel and Finn's kiss is what cost us Nationals."

Blaine placed the hand between them, fingers splayed. "While I understand passion, I do think that was unprofessional," he replaced his hand and with a blink continued, "but sorry," he urged. "Keep going."

"Okay, then we get back to the hotel," Kurt continued, a grin on his face from the excitement of it all, "and Santana _loses_ it. Sam and Mike and Quinn had to hold her back from a catfight with Rachel. Everyone was so uncomfortable. Rachel made me and Mercedes sleep on either side of her that night for safety. I mean and the plane ride home was completely silent. Like, no one said a word. We all just sat there with our faces buried in our complimentary copies of SkyMall."

Kurt's eyes were sparkling. "Wait, I—I don't get it," Blaine questioned, rotating his head to the side. "You don't seem that sad at all."

Kurt shrugged, picking up his coffee. "Well, it was still amazing," he gushed. "I mean, I flew on a plane for the first time in my life, I had breakfast at Tiffany's, I sang on a Broadway stage."

Blaine tilted his head, a tranquil smile forming on his face at his boyfriend's excitement. He had missed this, this week. Being with Kurt. Sharing with Kurt. And because he was so happy to see Kurt again and was thinking about how cute his boyfriend was when he was all excited and because it was totally true, it just sort of slipped out."I love you."

Blaine tapped a finger on his cheek, the peaceful expression on his face so soft and warm that it was almost a caress.

Kurt nearly choked on his coffee, his eyebrows shooting up. He swallowed his drink carefully, taking in the peace on his boyfriend's face with a smile. He could tell Blaine had absolutely no need for him to say it back. Blaine had simply said it because it was true. As if he wouldn't return the sentiment. Kurt's eyes lit up with playful fire. "I love you, too," he said, one eyebrow lifting through his smile. His voice was high, because he was excited, and fast, because he knew that Blaine had already known that. To linger on the words, as if he actually had to think about them, would be the same as to expect Blaine to wait for a special occasion to say them. They both knew it was true, and now they had both said it. What more was there?

Kurt smiled happily at Blaine, whose peaceful expression turned into more of a lopsided grin, Blaine's hazel eyes reappearing from under his eyelids as their gazes met.

"You know," Kurt said, a cheeky smile on his face, "when you stop and think about it," he glanced back up at Blaine from the side, "Kurt Hummel has had a pret-ty good year." He lifted his eyebrows for emphasis, yet another smile gracing his face.

Blaine had just reached for a sip of coffee when Kurt glanced towards the door. "Oh, look who's here," he called. Blaine nearly choked on his coffee as he set it down so he could look. Apparently, that's what they were doing today (besides declaring their love for one another and hopefully making out for a few minutes when they got to Kurt's house)—almost choking each other on highly caffeinated drinks. He was still on a bit of a high, but he was pretty sure it wasn't from the coffee.

"Hey, what are you guys doing here?" he greeted with a smile when he saw Sam and Mercedes.

"Uh, nothing," Sam replied, looking a little nervous. "Just, uh, getting a coffee." Yeah, at a coffee shop. That was original.

Kurt and Blaine focused identical grins at the pair.

"We ran into each other in the parking lot," Mercedes hurried to explain, a bright smile lighting up her face.

Blaine glanced back at Kurt, who was giving Mercedes a grin. _We are so talking about this later, girl, _it said,_ I'm happy for you._

Blaine decided to change the subject for a second to ease some of the tension.

"We're on our way to get some sheet music," he commented. "Tomorrow is my audition for the summer show at Six Flags." He crossed his fingers jokingly.

Mercedes and Sam nodded congenially, apparently happy for any new discussion.

"Wereas I'm spending my summer composing _Pip, Pip, Hooray!" _Kurt exclaimed as he sat up, back to his enthusiastic and somewhat sarcastic self. "The Broadway musical about Pippa Middleton," he clarified.

Blaine rolled his eyes and shook his head slightly at Sam and Mercedes, as if to say, "What can you do? Still love him." Blaine nearly laughed to himself as Sam and Mercedes shared a glance.

"I—I have no idea who that is, but it sounds totally awesome," Sam murmured. He laughed and glanced at Mercedes. She giggled and swatted his arm.

Kurt smiled indulgently at them. He was only playing along, Blaine was sure, only pretending that he didn't think there was anything going on because they obviously wanted him to.

"We'll see you in class," Mercedes said hastily, clearly worried that Kurt had caught on. Sam looked down as though he figured the same thing. "Bye!" Mercedes waved at them.

Blaine waved amicably. "Bye guys!"

Kurt followed them with his eyes, that knowing smile still on his face, tapping one foot in the air.

"Ok, so here are the nominees for my songs tomorrow," Blaine began. Kurt tore his eyes away from his friends and turned his attention back to his boyfriend. His mind and heart were racing. He had a boyfriend. And they were in love. And apparently, his friend had a boyfriend too, finally. _Yep,_ he reasoned, sliding a hand into one of Blaine's, _Kurt Hummel has had a pretty fantastic year._

_Awww, Klaine always makes me smile. :) _

_Thanks for reading! Please leave a review :) It truly makes my day._

_Emily_


	3. Chapter 3

**Part Three**

Blaine toed off his shoes and tossed his car keys into the bowl by the front door, humming a Disney tune he'd been singing at work all day.

"Sometimes I don't recognize you," he heard his father say from a few feet away.

Blaine looked up sharply, his heart pounding.

"I just…one day, you're this kid helping me rebuild a car in our garage and the next, you're a grown up and at this new school with a car and a job and a…boyfriend."Mr. Anderson shook his head slightly. Blaine wasn't sure what to say. He had spoken to his mother at least once a week whenever he was at Dalton, but he and his father had quietly gone different ways. _If you're saying that you think you don't know me anymore_, he thought, _you're right._

There was a pause. Blaine felt shreds of hope fill his chest. _Try, dad, _he wished. _Try to get to know your son again._ He stared at his father, not daring even to blink.

"I'm sorry. Forget it." Mr. Anderson said dismissively, suddenly very interested in the mail on the side table.

Blaine stared blankly at his father for a second.

By the time he had closed the door to his bedroom and pressed one on speed dial, he was shaking with silent sobs.

"Kurt?" he gasped when the ringing stopped.

"Blaine?"

"Yeah," Blaine managed, aware of how choked his voice sounded.

"What's wrong, babe?"

Blaine gasped out another sob.

"Blaine?" Kurt sounded more frantic.

"Could you just…talk to me for a few minutes, tell me about your day?" Blaine requested. "Then I'll tell you."

"All right," Kurt agreed.

By the time Kurt was describing Finn's catastrophic attempt at cooking lunch, Blaine's crying had stilled to quiet sobs and he had managed to dry a few tears from his face, Kurt's soothing voice washing over him like sleep after a long day.

"I…spoke with my dad when I got home from work today," Blaine explained when Kurt had finished. He relayed their brief conversation to Kurt. "Is it stupid that I still sometimes think he'll turn around? I just feel ridiculous and heartbroken every time he doesn't."

"It's not stupid, Blaine. It's not stupid at all." Blaine heard the sound of Kurt's bedroom door clicking shut and then the unmistakable ruffle of Kurt's sheets as he sat down on his bed. Blaine sniffled loudly.

"It's his job to come to you," Kurt reassured. "There's nothing wrong with you, and he is supposed to love you unconditionally, and show it unconditionally, and if he can't see that, or grow enough to do that, it's his loss."

Blaine choked a little, wiping the tears off his cheeks.

"But Blaine," Kurt added, "you shouldn't give up on him. Hope is good. It's human."

"Well right now it doesn't feel like one of the best parts," Blaine commented. "I hate that he uses my own interests against me. Like somehow encouraging my interest in football or trying to encourage one in cars will turn me straight." Blaine paused. "And I hate that he makes me feel like a visitor in my own home. I hate that we hardly know each other anymore, when we used to be so close. Sometimes I feel like my parents put up with me because I'm all they've got. They had this image of a perfect family with a perfect house and a perfect son who would grow up to have a dazzling career in law or medicine and marry a perfect girl and have perfect children."

"Who says you can't have children?" Kurt asked. "And if you live in New York," Kurt's voice was barely above a whisper, "you can get married, too."

Blaine wiped away another stray tear, remembering the conversation they'd had on the day of the vote about moving there together for college."Thank you."

"You and your family, Kurt," he said, "and all our friends—they're—they're enough for me."

"Your family loves you too, Blaine."

"It's not that they don't love me. They don't understand me. And they don't want to."

"Our friends love you. My family loves you. I love you," Kurt replied, frustrated that there was nothing more he could say.

"I know," Blaine said. "I love you, too."

"Dinner tomorrow night?" Kurt offered. "It'll get you out of your house."

A tentative smile replaced Blaine's somber expression. "Absolutely."

* * *

><p>When Blaine knocked on the Hummel-Hudson door the next evening, he was not in the least surprised when Finn, not Kurt, opened it.<p>

"Hey, Blaine," Finn greeted. "Come on in. He's still—"

"—getting dressed," Blaine finished.

Finn gave him a lopsided grin. "Yeah. Wanna join me?" Finn backed into the house and picked up his videogame controller from the couch, offering a second one to Blaine.

Blaine considered it for a second. "Nah, I'm good. You go ahead."

Finn unfroze his game as he settled back onto the couch. "Okay."

"Going well?" Blaine inquired after a minute, shoving his hands in his pockets and leaning against a nearby wall.

"Ehh," Finn replied, his eyes not leaving the set, "could be better." He seemed to realize that he needed to act more like a host before his brother's flawlessly mannered boyfriend would come further into the house, even though they were friends. "Sit wherever you want. Mom's out. Burt's in the kitchen."

"Thanks." Blaine glanced once around the living room, smiling at how lived in and comfortable and homey it felt compared to his own definitely stylish but depressingly impersonal house. Kurt's influence was clear-the furniture and throw blankets and photos were perfectly balanced and coordinated—but inside the photos were personal memories: an image of a five-year-old Kurt cooking with his mother, bits of sticky cookie dough stuck between his fingers; a photo of Kurt and Finn smiling together at the wedding; Kurt and Burt posing proudly next to a fixed up car. This was what his house was missing, Blaine thought. The feeling that a real family lived there. His heart jumped a little when he glanced at a side table and recognized himself in a photo, his arms around Kurt as they left the stage at Regionals.

When he reached the kitchen, Blaine settled quietly into one of the chairs, still lost in thought.

"Hey, Blaine," Burt greeted from his place at the sink. He was filling a tall glass with water. "Want something?" he offered.

"Some water would be great, actually." Blaine pointed vaguely to his throat as he cleared it. "Work was long today—my singing voice is shot for another few hours at least." Besides getting to see his boyfriend in ridiculously wonderful outfits (because, honestly, Kurt looked fabulous in just about anything), these brief chats with Burt were Blaine's favorite consequence of his boyfriend's dressing habits.

Burt grinned as he reached for another glass from the cabinet.

"How's your summer been so far?" Blaine asked.

"Good," Burt replied.

"I really do love your home," Blaine commented.

Burt considered him as he set their glasses down and joined Blaine at the table. He assumed Blaine had come to this conclusion on his way in. "The living room? Kurt's design."

"Yeah, I figured. I love it because…because it feels like a home. It looks nice, but…lived in. There's random books and magazines and photos and…things. That belong to each of you. Does that make sense? My house is just…cold. It feels like a museum, sometimes, and I'm the misfit artifact the director decided to leave in the basement." Blaine pressed his lips together and blinked once, slowly.

Burt looked sympathetic. "Well, I hope you know you're always welcome here."

Blaine smiled gratefully at his boyfriend's father. "I'm just glad Kurt has oth—," Blaine backtracked a little, having barely caught what he was about to say, "people who show that they love him at home, that he obviously feels like he fits in here."

Burt grinned at Blaine's accidental admission. "I'm sure you now this, Blaine, but you make him really, really happy. A lot happier than I've seen him in a long time."

"It's not all me," Blaine protested, looking up to meet Burt's eyes.

"Last year, must've been a few weeks before he met you, he was telling me how frustrated and upset he was that he'd never get to hold hands with a guy he liked or slow dance at his prom." Burt placed a hand on Blaine's shoulder kindly. "You don't hurt, kid. "

They both heard light footsteps descend the stairs. Burt removed his hand just before Kurt appeared in the doorway, half skipping over to Blaine with what Blaine would describe as adorable enthusiasm.

"Hey, beautiful," Blaine said softly, standing to press a light kiss to Kurt's cheek and interlace their hands.

Kurt responded with a quick kiss, murmuring "Hello" over Blaine's lips. He glanced over Blaine's shoulders quickly. "Dad, you've been nice, right?" he demanded.

Burt held up his hands jokingly. "No threats or anything," he promised. "Just a nice conversation."

"Good," Kurt commented. Blaine glanced at Burt, who smiled encouragingly. Kurt glanced between them for a few seconds, curious.

"Well," Blaine cleared his throat, "we should go."

Burt reached out to gather the water glasses. "You two have fun," he stated, standing to place the glasses in the sink. "Kurt, back by eleven thirty. I love you."

"Love you too, dad." Burt didn't miss the way Blaine's eyes glazed over just a little as he observed their exchange, nor the way his son squeezed Blaine's hand gently to offer comfort. Burt mused he no longer had a monopoly on receiving those three words from Kurt. But that was ok. Because Blaine deserved them.

* * *

><p>They were on Kurt's bed, facing each other, noses barely an inch apart, ankles brushing.<p>

Kurt reached for a loose curl near Blaine's head. "You didn't gel your hair today," he observed.

Blaine sighed. "I know. I ran out this morning."

Kurt mock gasped. "You ran out? What did someone break in to your house and take it all?"

"Umm…"

Kurt raised an eyebrow sardonically.

"Wes and David may have…decided it would be funny if I had to go see you with my crazy natural hair. So, here it is." He gestured awkwardly at the mop of curls on his forehead.

Kurt laughed happily. "I knew there was a reason I put up with them." Blaine glanced at Kurt's hand, still twisted in his hair, then back into his eyes. "I like your hair this way."

"I used to…back at my old school…I didn't gel it. I guess it was just one more way to fit in when I got to Dalton." Blaine's eyebrows furrowed. "I haven't thought about it in a while."

Kurt pressed a light kiss to Blaine's nose in encouragement.

"I had to fit in," Blaine continued. "It was sort of my last shot to get away from the bullies, and my dad, and just…be myself."

Kurt nodded a couple of times to show his understanding, one thumb gently sweeping across Blaine's exposed cheekbone to his temple. "It's hard to be brave when your environment is trying to beat it out of you," Kurt observed.

"Literally," Blaine mumbled.

Kurt was silent for a few seconds as he absently traced his fingers along Blaine's neck.

"Why didn't you tell me about the worst of it, when we met?" he finally asked.

Blaine considered that, brushing an errant piece of hair back onto Kurt's carefully styled head. "I didn't like talking about it, for one. But I guess I—I could tell that things hadn't gotten that bad, at least physically, for you, and I wanted to protect you from that knowledge. The rest of it, that happened to me, too, before, so I figured the advice I had about that would do you more good. I would've told you when I found out you were transferring, but I didn't want to scare you."

"And when you told me, before Prom?" Kurt prompted.

Blaine smiled affectionately. "I had to say something to explain how I was resisting that adorable enthusiasm of yours," he teased. The joking glint left his eyes, replaced with warmth. "And I feel safe, faltering, with you. I could tell you about all those things and you wouldn't say I wasn't brave enough or strong enough or even inconspicuous enough, like my father would."

They stayed silent for a minute, enjoying the intimacy of the moment. Kurt decided to lighten the mood. "Except when you falter with Rachel," he joked.

Blaine laughed, the warmth touching his eyes. "Yeah, well, can we sign that whole affair off to the list of stupid things we did before we realized we had fallen in love with our best friend, and leave it at that?"

Kurt kissed him almost desperately at that, pulling them even closer together than they already were, tangling his hands in Blaine's hair.

"Mmhm," he gasped, "I might have to pay Wes and David to steal your hair gel more often."

Blaine trailed kisses along his jaw, mumbling, "Just as long as you remember that I have access to Finn's number, and Finn has access to your clothes."

Kurt pushed Blaine back for a second. "You wouldn't."

Their lips met again. "Mmhm," Blaine agreed, "if a lack of hair gel gets you to kiss me like this," he pressed their lips together to prove his point, "then you're probably right."

Kurt rested their foreheads together gently. "The whole Rachel thing was good for me, for us, I think, in the end," he said.

Blaine looked utterly confused. "Why?"

"Because we were still friends at the end of it, and I was still in love with you. It turned blind hero worship into..." Kurt searched for the proper words. " 'Falling in love with my best friend.' "

"Well, in that case," Blaine declared, twining their hands together, "I'll have to thank Rachel for that game of Spin-the-Bottle."

"I wouldn't go that far, honey," Kurt warned, his signature flashing look appearing. "You try watching your crush make out with a friend he's not even supposed to be interested in."

"Actually, I'd rather not, if that's okay with you. You're not just a crush. And I'd rather you not make out with anyone but me. You know, jealous boyfriend and all that."

Kurt ruffled his hair happily. "Okay."

"I love you."

Blaine grinned, pulling Kurt closer to him in a hug. "I love you, too."

* * *

><p>A few days later, while he was waiting for Kurt to return from getting them drinks in the kitchen, Blaine found himself reaching for the door to Kurt's closet, which was usually shut entirely but happened to be cracked open. He glanced into the closet first and snorted at the sheer volume (as if he had expected anything else), until a flash of color on the inside of the door caught his eye. He smiled softly as he traced first the photo of the two of them, Blaine pressing a kiss to Kurt's cheek, then the letters-white, black, white, pink, green, white, cream—sketching "CoURaGe" across the inside of the door door.<p>

He felt the shift in the floor as Kurt reappeared and craned his neck around. Kurt blushed violently when he saw what Blaine was looking at. "You weren't supposed to see that," he mumbled with his face dropped towards the floor.

"How long has it been there?" Blaine asked with a grin.

Kurt hesitated, setting their drinks on his desk. "It was actually on my locker during the school year," he confessed.

"Since when?" Blaine prompted, his smile spreading.

Kurt turned even redder as he walked toward Blaine. "Since November?" he squeaked.

"What was the picture then?" Blaine inquired, genuinely curious.

"Your school portrait." Kurt took the photo of them down and removed the backing, turning the case to reveal a second picture, Blaine's face smiling up at them dapperly in his Dalton jacket.

Blaine studied it for a moment as his eyebrows grew closer and closer together. "And you got that…"

By now Kurt's neck and arms had reddened to match his face. "I may have stalked you on Facebook after you came to McKinley and printed off an old profile picture, and then brought it to Lauren from the AV club to enhance so the photo quality wasn't so bad."

Blaine kissed his cheek. "You're adorable."

"If you say so."

"I do say so." Blaine took pity on his fire engine red boyfriend and wrapped his arms around Kurt in a gentle hug, Kurt's forearms and hands cradled against his chest and Kurt's cheek resting on his left shoulder so that his face was turned away from Blaine.

"You know, I don't think I've ever told you where I got that word."

"Mhm," Kurt hummed into his shoulder. "Courage?"

Blaine tugged Kurt closer and tilted the side of his head against Kurt's. "Yeah."

"Where?" Blaine felt Kurt's jaw shift on the word. He pressed a kiss to the back of Kurt's head and stared at the collage still visible on the closet door.

"I told you about the dance?" Blaine began. Kurt tensed, and Blaine ran a comforting hand across his shoulder blades. "The bullies…right before they hit me with a broken piece of metal and gave me that scar on my shoulder—" Blaine inhaled sharply as Kurt pressed a gentle kiss against his shirt where he knew the scar ended "—they said 'No courage to fight back, Anderson?'" Blaine's voice trembled as he shook his head once to stop the hateful, crystal-clear voice of his memories.

Kurt's right hand slid gently around the top of his shoulder, his left hand grasping Blaine's chin with his thumb on one side and his fingers splayed across the other. "You're amazing," he whispered. He leaned forward and kissed Blaine gently.

Blaine looked unsure. "Why? Because I couldn't come up with anything more inspiring than the word my tormentors used?"

Kurt kissed him again. "No, because you took something that was supposed to tear you down and used it to inspire yourself and inspire me. And other people, too, I'm sure."

Blaine's mouth curved up a little. He returned the kiss, and they stayed there for a few moments, lips moving comfortably together. "We inspire each other," he amended when they broke apart, breathless.

"Mhm," Kurt agreed, settling his head back on Blaine's shoulder. "Love you."

"Love you too, Kurt."

For some reason, the answer Kurt had given him in the hallway at Prom appeared in his mind as they embraced. _"They can't touch us. Or what we have," _he'd said.

Blaine gripped Kurt a little more tightly. "We're courageous together."

_Emotionally exhausted? I know I was. Thanks for reading! Please review :)_

_Emily._


	4. Chapter 4

_An addition to this story as a kind of epilogue, though I'm not 100% sure I'm done with this story. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this tidbit. Emily_

Kurt is stepping quickly down the outdoor staircase, thoughts of the upcoming first Glee meeting of the year and the conversation about scarves he's just had with Mercedes and the discussion he's going to have with Rachel when he sees her next about how Finn does act like an idiot sometimes but has a good heart swirling in his mind. Mostly, though, he's seeing Karofsky pushing Blaine against the metal wall he's coming to and Blaine and the Warblers singing _Somewhere Only We Know_ to him just beyond it and feeling Blaine grasping his hand and pressing a kiss to his cheek as they walk into McKinley for the benefit concert, and wondering why his newly enrolled boyfriend hasn't actually appeared yet, because first period is over and he should definitely be here by now. God, even his thoughts are jumbled ramblings.

He feels a light pressure on his shoulder, and his heart jumps a little as a familiar voice begins. "Excuse me…um, hi. Can I ask you a question? I'm new here."

A soft but exuberant smile quickly lights up Kurt's face as he spins and vaults into another's arms. "Blaine," he breathes.

Blaine barely moves his mouth to press a kiss to Kurt's neck. "Hey, Kurt," he responds, his voice breathless and firm, and full of joy and tears, all at once.

"I hate to tell you," Kurt mumbles into his shoulder a few moments later, "but the Glee Club here? Not even a little bit cool."

Blaine laughs and lifts his head out of the embrace. "But you know some shortcuts, right?" he teases.

Kurt snorts. "Yeah, because that one you took me on was definitely legitimate."

Blaine plays taking offense, but only manages it for about a second before the smile slips back onto his face.

He offers one of his hands to Kurt and doesn't miss the way Kurt hesitates and glances around a little nervously. "Courage?" Blaine turns his hand up to Kurt and smiles reassuringly.

"Courage together," Kurt agrees, settling his hand deliberately into Blaine's with an answering smile.

Their hands squeeze tight for a second, then Kurt tugs Blaine's towards the bottom of the stairs, lacing their fingers together as they move.

He knows that this day, this year, is going to be difficult, and that even holding hands like this is a bit of a risk, but at the moment, he's choosing not to care. Because standing here, in this school, with his hand in Blaine's, taking on the world together? Nothing could feel more right.


End file.
